


LET'S JUST DRIVE

by AgnesClementine



Series: ENDLESS ROAD TO MIDNIGHT [2]
Category: RocknRolla (2008), Supernatural
Genre: Bob is still Rob, Dean is fooling himself, Gen or Pre-Slash, I'm Sorry, M/M, Pre-Relationship, is it pre-slash if there was a blowjob in first fic?, these tags make no sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-10 04:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21469369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: Rob just keeps on looking at him, and Dean wonders if he fucked up- it hasn’t crossed his mind but it’s possible that Dean has been Rob’s one-off too. Maybe he was too quick to conclude anything because Rob never said that he’s into guys. The rest stop thing doesn’t count because Dean was there too and he knows that he’s not into guys.Dean is refusing to admit he's lonely, starts traveling with a guy, and is refusing to admit he likes the guy.*********************************************************AKA, I'm back on my bullshit. I don't even know what this is but, like the first part, it can be read without your knowledge of Rocknrolla.
Relationships: Handsome Bob (RocknRolla)/Dean Winchester
Series: ENDLESS ROAD TO MIDNIGHT [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547563
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11





	LET'S JUST DRIVE

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, yeah. I wrote a second part. I honestly don't know what's going on here, but *gestures vaguely at text below*
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Faintly, Dean is aware that it was a stupid idea. It was an unspoken rule; civilians are best off not knowing. And making sure of that won’t be easy while traveling with one. So, yeah.

But the miles of the open road and complete, independent freedom didn’t appeal to him as much as they had when Dad first tossed him the Impala’s keys and said, “She’s yours now.” And he blames it on the beer- the same beer that screwed up his head in that rest stop- for asking Bob-but-Rob’s-okay-too where he’s headed.

“Ah, nowhere, really. At least for now,” Rob told him, wiggling a finger under a black hair tie around his wrist. It’s a strange accessory; considering Rob’s hair is actually even a bit shorter than Dean’s.

He insists it was his hangover talking when he asked him, “You, uh, wanna tag along?”

And, well, Rob didn’t say no.

Now, Dean’s wondering how bad is this going to come back to bite him in the ass. Still, he drives with his eyes firmly on the road, forcing himself not to associate Rob with anything except “the guy hitching a ride with me”. Not “the guy I met in a rest stop” or “the guy who gave me a blowjob in a bathroom stall”. Or “the guy I took back to my room and haven’t slept with” because, yeah, Dean made a beeline for the shower, and then pretended he fell asleep when Rob came out of the bathroom. Not one of his proudest moments, but it occurred to him that Rob never got off and that he might ask Dean to return the favor. And he felt like his world got turned upside down enough for one night. So that was that. Until the morning and his stupid question which got them here.

Rob, for what it’s worth, is a decent tag-along. His eyes almost fell out when he saw Baby for the first time, which immediately earned him extra points in Dean’s book. He gushed, he awed and looked content to just stare at shiny paint job for the time being. He didn’t complain that Dean drives too fast (seemed delighted by it, actually), didn’t mind that Dean keeps the volume on max. at all times, or that he has five albums on the roll. If anything, he kept glancing at the wheel forlornly and still didn’t say anything when Dean informed him that nobody drives Baby but him. Honestly, screw decent; he’s a perfect tag-along.

And still, all that aside, the question of how he’s going to pull this off keeps on nagging him. He takes his calls away from Rob, wards their rooms when Rob uses the bathroom, or goes out to grab the food, and if he’s being honest, he doesn’t put much effort into finding a case. It’s just until he figures everything out, just until he comes up with a game plan because if he wants this to work, then he really needs a game plan.

He’s not sure what “this” exactly means but Rob doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get away from him and Dean’s not asking him either. It feels strangely permanent and as soon as the thought forms in his head, he declares it ridiculous. They are strangers to each other (who just happen to be stuck in a metal box on wheels for over 10 hours per day) and there’s really nothing indicating that Rob’s going to stick around for… _however long_ it takes to make it permanent.

“Bathroom’s all yours.”

He jerks out of his musings, looks over at Rob and the cloud of steam that follows after him into the room. He’s scrubbing a towel over his head, bare feet padding over worn-out linoleum floor. The legs of his jeans scuff over the floor because he’s short (no matter what he says) as well as lanky, and everything Dean’s seen him in gives him a bit of breathing space.

He snatches what he needs and enters the bathroom that’s still foggy as hell. Rob showers with water that’s the approximate temperature of hell, but he’s impressively quick, so at least there’s enough warm water for Dean to use.

And yeah, another thing; after their rest stop _thing_, there’s been…nothing. Dean doesn’t know much about this stuff, Rob’s kind of stuff, but the fact that Rob didn’t suggest anything is confusing. The implication that it’s expected that Rob would want to do, uh, something again makes him feel like a douchebag, but he can’t help it. Still, he’s not touching that topic with a ten-foot pole, not yet, and Rob is acting as if nothing has happened so…Dean supposes they’re just gonna ignore that for now. Which suits him fine, seriously. He’s got enough on his mind without that whole mess taking up space in there too.

  * ●●●●

Rob is a good actor.

Dean observes silently how the perky waitress basically melts at his accent and the indulgent look in his eyes. In fact, everything about him is indulgent; how he’s nodding at her, how he’s smiling, just the barest tug of his mouth. Dean can see through it, maybe because he knows one tiny thing that Jenny, as her nametag says, doesn’t know, but she’s practically eating out of his palm.

And Dean would probably be offended- he’s just used to waitresses fawning over _him_\- but this is too much fun.

When she leaves, blushing and giggling, Rob leans back in his seat and takes a long slurp of his soda. Dean snorts.

“What?” Rob asks, looking almost startled.

“That was some grade-A acting there,” Dean remarks jokingly.

Rob just keeps on looking at him, and Dean wonders if he fucked up- it hasn’t crossed his mind but it’s possible that Dean has been Rob’s one-off too. Maybe he was too quick to conclude anything because Rob never said that he’s into guys. The rest stop thing doesn’t count because Dean was there too and he _knows_ that he’s not into guys.

But then Rob grins, for real, and says, “You’re the first one who noticed.”

Which, huh.

“For real?” He asks, surprised.

Rob sets his glass on the table, taps his finger against it. “No, not really, I think,” he scratches his cheek thoughtfully and adds sullenly, “I mean, I’m sure others noticed too, but my best mate didn’t.”

“What, shit hit the fan when he found out?” Dean asks and immediately wants to take it back because _what kind of a question is that?_

Rob’s eyebrows rise with the memory, eyes far away as he hums, “Uhh-huh, something like that.”

And fuck it, Dean is invested now, so he asks, “You, uh, don’t talk anymore?”

Rob blinks at him, “Not at the moment. But we’re not- We’re gonna be alright. As soon as the bastard gets over himself.”

The first part is pure certainty, and the second is irritated grouchiness. Dean knows, just from his tone, that Rob’s just waiting for that guy to get on with the program. It’s scary because they haven’t known each other for a long time, but he can already pick and interpret things like this.

“Well, I hope he hurries up with that,” he says for the lack of anything better.

Rob makes a noncommittal noise and steals a handful of his fries.

  * ●●●●

“What do you do, anyway?”

The question is long overdue, Dean is aware, but he’s still not ready for it. He’s been debating whether to tell him the truth from the get-go, but he’s still been meticulous about the salt and traps and weapons, making sure everything is out of sight.

“Uh, right now? Nothing,” he says, which is not even a lie.

Rob rolls his eyes, sprawled over the couch. “I can see that,” he says, “but usually, when you’re not offering tourist service to British people?”

Dean snorts and in a burst of impulsiveness tells him, “My, uh, uncle owns a junkyard. And I do a bit of mechanic work here and there.” Again, no lies there.

“You’re a mechanic?”

“Yeah,” he says with a shrug. Then he turns the tables and asks, “You?”

“Driver,” Rob tells him simply.

“Like a taxi or something?”

Rob grins impishly, “Or something.” He doesn’t elaborate and Dean runs his mind through options until he gasps, exclaiming, “Oh, God, you’re not driving a limousine, right?” He barks out a laugh, “Holy shit, do you have to wear one of those penguin suits?”

Rob’s grin falls and he responds, offended, “No, I don’t drive a fucking limousine. What the hell.”

He sounds like he has a personal vendetta against limousines- there’s a story there and Dean is going to get it out of him sooner or later- and that just has him laughing harder.

“The image of me in a suit is that hilarious, eh?” Rob asks, clicking his tongue, but Dean can tell he’s not actually offended.

When he gets his breath back, he asks, “How’d you get into driving?”

“How’d you get to being a mechanic?”

Dean shrugs, “Family business, dad got me into it.”

Rob snorts, “Not the case here.”

“How come?” To Dean’s knowledge, fathers are usually thrilled to have their sons behind the wheel for the first time. Maybe things are different in the UK, what does he know.

“Hm, he got arrested when I was…seven?” Rob says, “Haven’t seen him since.”

“Shit,” Dean says. He doesn’t get to see Dad so much lately, but he was always there when Dean was a kid, especially while Sam was still a baby and Dean was way too young to be left alone with him.

Rob shrugs and stretches, muscles taut. “He was a prick.”

He grins again, eyes glinting with self-satisfied mischief, “I got a glimpse of him a couple of years back and keyed his car.”

Dean laughs again. He can imagine it; Rob slinking behind some junk of a car and dragging his house key over the paint job.

He wants to ask what car it was and did he write something specific, but his phone rings.

He gets himself under control, then excuses himself and gets out. The chill air in the parking lot cools his cheeks and he clears his throat before answering.

“Yeah?”

“Dean? I’ve got a case for you in Wisconsin,” his dad says. “Where are you?”

His mood sinks.

“Uh, I’m in Nebraska,” he responds, catching himself in the last moment before saying “_We’re_ in Nebraska.”

“Alright. Another hunter did all the research, but has a situation and needs someone else to finish the job. I’ll send you everything he got.”

“Okay. I’ll, uh, I’ll get on the road bright and early.”

His dad gives a grunt of approval, says goodbye, and hangs up.

Dean shoves the phone in his jacket and lets his arms hang limply by his sides. So much about putting off hunting until he figures out a game plan. It looks like he’s gonna have to work on it as he goes. Awesome.


End file.
